End, No Beginning
by empraise
Summary: It's not about good versus evil when good no longer exists, but the lesser evil will often be the weaker. What's worse than a monster? Why immerse in a nightmare? Tentacle/Keyshipping
1. Lo--

**content warnings**: mentions of abuse, later murder and (fic spoiler) character death (suicide)

fic edited from original version: May 2014

**hope you like it**

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><p>Chapter <strong>Lo- <strong>

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><p>Ninety-six giggled gleefully as their opponent crashed down, his lifepoints sinking as quickly as his consciousness. The holograms surrounding them vanished, yet even the realistic image of the monster Black Mist seemed to linger a moment more to savor this deliciously easy victory before disappearing. Ninety-six allowed his feet to touch the ground and sauntered past his silent servant, stretching his arm out in a greedy claw. A Number appeared from the out-cold duelist and flew towards them.<p>

The power of the Memory streamed into him, and Ninety-six once more felt the rush of emotions and senses that the Memory inspired. He shivered, only vaguely aware of Yuma's footsteps approaching from behind, and relished in the high, stretching his back and floating, running his own claw-like fingers through his hair just to grab onto something, as though he could hold onto the feeling and make it last.

"Does it feel good, master," Yuma murmured, and Ninety-six nearly went still at the other's sullen, serene tone. He turned, still playing with his earrings as he eyed his servant. Yuma's expression was still but somehow lazily focused, as though Ninety-six had said or done something interesting but not unusual. Perhaps, to a human, this experience could seem somewhat fascinating. Ninety-six considered that before smiling, and held out his arms.

Yuma obediently stepped forward for the other to breeze his hands on his face and sides. "Yes," he answered, and leaned next to Yuma's ear, "just like you. You've been so good, Yuma. Once everything is done, I'll make sure to take good care of you."

Yuma began to lift his arm before pausing only to let it hang again, his eyes still locked and focused on the monster's. Ninety-six frowned and ceased his petting. Yuma had been doing a lot of that lately - forcing his own movements to stop, staring at his master with more bravery than before, and yet without a trace of defiance.

Ninety-six knew, from both Yuma and the human who owned Ninety-six's card before him, that humans were much like pets; the better one treated them, the more fond they were of that person. He supposed this wasn't unusual, the way Yuma began to behave - touchy, almost, and with an intense fondness in his eyes whenever they landed on Ninety-six.

The Number backed away from Yuma and turned, dismissive. He let his feet touch the ground again and walked, trying to ignore the surprising apprehension he felt at Yuma's steps following so closely, his eyes still locked with and searing onto the back of his neck.

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><p>Yuma stepped out of his nightly shower with only the towel that the motel provided each room hung loosely around his waist. His hair hung down, weighted by the shower's remaining moisture. Ninety-six acknowledged his presence before refocusing on the television's news, again noticing that he was the first and only thing Yuma had gazed at in entering the room.<p>

The reporters chatted about topics which had nothing to do with suspicious city activity, and gave not a hint of where or who could have their next Number. Yuma watched as well, sitting beside Ninety-six's sprawled form on the rented bed, close enough so that the Number could smell the musk of the body soap the other had used. He glanced at him before snapping his attention back at the screen.

"Maybe," Yuma broached the prolonged silence between them, and it was only then when Yuma's voice got his attention that Ninety-six realized he had a while ago ceased listening to the news, the program becoming nothing but static in the forefront of Yuma's close, smooth shoulders and still heavy bangs, "we could get a new D-Pad, one that connects to the Net. T.V. doesn't always cover everything that goes on, but if you do a little research, we could find out stuff that they're not even mentioning." He leaned back as a commercial aired, turning to Ninety-six again to see if he received his approval. "I can go looking for one tomorrow, when the stores are open. We don't need a really expensive one, so I can afford it," he worried his lips before finishing, "for you."

His fingers clenched the sheets underneath them, and he gulped. Ninety-six replied to his servant's nervousness with a blank look, not understanding what he could have done to inspire the other's seemingly spontaneous trepidation. Was Yuma seeking an answer, or a treat? Unsure, Ninety-six reached his arm out, noticing Yuma's eyes glint in expectation, and petted Yuma's hair and neck. The tension left him, but as Ninety-six retreated, Yuma frowned. Ninety-six regarded him a moment more before nodding curtly and rising, not used to feeling so inexplicably focused on and awkward.

He walked around Yuma to the fridge. "Hungry, Yuma," he asked, taking out some artistically molded pieces of rice and fish. He set the food on the bedside table, ignoring Yuma's faraway eyes for a glass of tapwater. Yuma sat down quietly, staring at his food as Ninety-six left the water in front of him and retreated back to his previous position in front of the television - though he couldn't catch a word of what was being said before he finally gave up for the night and switched the power off an hour later, after Yuma had tucked himself into bed.

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><p>Ninety-six opened his eyes in the dead of night to Yuma's hands in his hair. His servant wasn't fazed as his eyes flew open, imploring; Yuma continued to look down at him with the same fascinated, almost adoring expression he had earlier. "You're so smooth," he commented idly as Ninety-six reached out to grab his wrist, intending to stop Yuma's foreign actions but instead found himself passive, curious, his hand choosing to simply feel Yuma's skin brush underneath his fingers.<p>

Yuma's eyes glinted once more at the passivity, and Ninety-six waited, excited, though as to why he felt himself begin to tremble, he had only a vague idea. He knew humans expressed affection through various physical acts, though which acts meant what in terms of their intentions seemed indefinable. Yuma's knees gave in as he slowly sat himself on Ninety-six's middle, straddling him, and he leaned forward.

"I'm going to touch you here again, master," he informed, and Ninety-six stiffened, torn with whether or not he should reposition them, force himself out of this situation where he felt, for some reason, more vulnerable despite that the Number was obviously the stronger one. Yuma felt the other's stillness and waited, watching the alien's expression become conflictingly guarded, but after the moment, Yuma's hands moved up again.

Ninety-six sucked a breath as rough fingers squeezed the gems near his neck. Yuma flinched as his wrists were grabbed off. "Wait," Ninety-six seethed, then regained his bearing before he met with Yuma's tense demeanor. Yuma just wasn't afraid anymore; his servant regarded him with apologetic concern. He elaborated, "I don't want it too fast." He loosened his grip on Yuma's wrists, released him, and his servant relaxed at the freedom. Ninety-six lay flat on his back, not having even realized he had sprung up at Yuma's touch. "Touch me slowly," he instructed before snapping his gaze from Yuma's large, smiling face and towards the expressionless blank ceiling.

Yuma obeyed, and Ninety-six moaned as soft, small fingers rubbed the gems in twirling motions. Yuma dipped his face closer. He pressed the gems down softly as he rubbed the outer base of them, and shifted his seating as Ninety-six mewled and arched his back at the action. Clawed hands sprung up to cover his palms on Yuma's shoulder blades. Yuma gave a soft, short-lived cry as Ninety-six clenched his hands and scratched down the other's skin before Yuma moved one of his hands down to play with one of the gems near his master's pelvis.

The Number bucked. "Yuma." Human methods for expressing affection, for whatever emotional or physiological or otherwise innate reason, had the effect of making one whine and scream uselessly, and without a cause for such. "Yuma," he growled, grasping his servant's hair and pulling him closer, making Yuma grunt from the shock and pain. Ninety-six's hold snapped open on its own and stroked the spot he'd tugged. "Kiss me again, Yuma." No hesitation; Ninety-six saw the other's eyes close before pink lips puckered and smashed onto his.

Yuma's tongue painted saliva on his lips. Ninety-six opened his mouth eagerly and stuck his own tongue out, bringing it into Yuma's mouth and brushing his, just as Yuma had done to him before. Yuma moaned and pressed himself against him, rubbing the gems near Ninety-six's pelvis with his thighs while burying his hands in his hair. The other gasped in his mouth, his arms locking Yuma closer, his claws pressing and scratching Yuma's back and shoulders once more.

Yuma had begun to grind himself over Ninety-six, and gradually picked up his speed. Ninety-six felt Yuma's hardness grow from beneath his underwear as it rubbed the Number's stomach. He slid the sharp tips of his fingers down Yuma's back and fondled with the hem of the boxers. His fingers dove in, stroking the shape of Yuma's bottom before pushing towards his front.

Yuma sprung up from the kiss, going down for the gem near Ninety-six's neck. Lips pecked the gem, licked and sucked it. The hand in Yuma's boxers snapped up and grabbed his hips in Ninety-six's spasm, and the Number cried out.

His legs bent beneath Yuma as they clenched the sheets, and he threw his head back as Yuma lapped at him while eager hands reached for his other gems. He haphazardly grabbed his servant's back and neck. "Yuma, Yuma." A loud, long groan vibrated his throat and escaped his lips, and his whole body went limp as Yuma gave his gem and jaw their last pleasant kisses for the night.

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><p>Ninety-six's eyes were closed, though Yuma never knew or asked if this was him sleeping or merely resting. Still, he touched Ninety-six's face, running a finger over the triangle jaw. The monster made no sound or movement. Yuma took a deep breath and laid his palm on his master's chest, eyes darting slightly in an attempt to note and memorize the details of his nightmare's unusually calm expression.<p>

Softly, he whispered, "Did it feel good?" Ninety-six wasn't even breathing, and continued to be limp, though Yuma had not expected or sought an actual answer. He shifted and snuggled himself onto the Memory's chest. "Better than a Number?" His eyes closed, his mind focusing now only on getting some sleep. A dark arm reached down past him as his breathing slowed, and Ninety-six pulled the blanket over Yuma's shoulders.


	2. End

Chapter **End**

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><p>As soon as Ninety-six said, "Number," Yuma's chest squeezed, and at the sound of his own soft whine, he sobbed a bitter laugh as a few drops of tears broke through. Ninety-six had stopped walking and stood still, staring at him as he began to tremble, the Number's expression that of the unsure impassiveness Yuma had long since grown familiar with. Ninety-six's shoulders stiffened closer into himself, making him look just a little bit smaller as he attempted to make an awkward assessment of his servant's reaction, as well as deliberating on how to remedy it.<p>

Yuma's wet eyes remained staring at Ninety-six's feet. The lights of the boardwalk they had just left and the view of its theme park's rides at night, with the Ferris wheel they had just been to, felt far away to them. However, Ninety-six saw these things, saw the pink-and-yellow lights flavor the darkness, and saw Yuma's crying as unfitting in the supposedly cheerful setting. The humans in the park had been happy, smiling - as had Yuma. Yuma's eyes had been wide and careless as their cart had rotated to the top of the giant wheel, and he'd practically pressed his face against the glass, soaking in the sight of Heartland's signature park of balloons and laughter and committing all of it to memory. Ninety-six hadn't looked away this time as Yuma caught him staring.

Yuma had smiled at him, conspiratorially, the way he sometimes did when they would silently strategize in duels - but this smile was gentle, and, this time, Ninety-six wasn't sure what they were supposed to be sharing. Yuma had turned away as the wheel moved again, slowly bringing them closer to the ground. Only when Yuma had pointed to the loose balloons escaping freely into the sky did Ninety-six look away from his servant, simultaneously pleased and indignant of the comfort he felt.

Yuma turned away now, still crying eyes glaring at the water beside them, and Ninety-six questioned from his place, "Why are you crying?" Yuma's lips twitched, in an angry smile or another almost-sob, Ninety-six couldn't tell, and, dismissively, Yuma shook his head. Ninety-six had seen many humans cry, had seen Yuma cry during their first days and weeks together after his final release. Until now, humans had only cried when he had hurt them - when he had dragged Yuma by the hair and had squeezed Yuma's limbs and neck until he had submitted. It had been such a long time since he'd needed to treat his slave so cruelly. Ninety-six hadn't touched his servant all day. There was no reason for him to cry.

"It's just-" Yuma started, rubbing his eyes and pushing his tears back as he smiled, his teeth gritting. "I-I thought-… I was hoping for- something else," he hissed, trailing off. Ninety-six's confused frown deepened in disapproval as Yuma turned his back to him, chuckling, "It's nothing," and leaned his side against the railing. "Just give me a minute."

They didn't have a minute. Ninety-six sneered, his fists clenching, but remained still, something about Yuma's trembling back forcing Ninety-six's feet flat in place. He knew Yuma could regain his strength back quickly from having observed him during their duels, when the human's frail, young body bounced quickly upright after even the most precise and brutal direct attacks. Yuma could very quickly heal afterwards - but Ninety-six was impatient. In duels, at least, there was a reason for Yuma to hurt. But why was his slave hurting now?

Yuma turned and caught sight of his sneer. He was still crying, but sniffed and tried to stifle any noises as he wiped his wet nose, mouth, and eyes. "Where," he asked hoarsely. Ninety-six's teeth clenched and shown, still confused and unsure of how to respond to Yuma's illogical sadness. The Number didn't speak, instead turning and walking towards Heartland's Heart Tower, expecting his human to follow. After months of getting used to Yuma's puppy-like closeness, the other's now more distant footsteps sounded too far behind him for his liking. Ninety-six felt himself tense in strange irritation, and heatedly marched faster in a demand for his servant to match his speed.

"Why here," Yuma asked quietly as he cleared some of the distance. His neck strained to glimpse the top of the Heart Tower from where they were near its bottom. "How do you know there's a Number here?"

Ninety-six strut determinedly towards the entrance, frowning at the fake neutrality in Yuma's tone. "Our last opponent was obviously working under someone; he had orders to bring more Numbers to his superior. When we frisked him, he had a card saying he worked here. I sensed nothing in the park, so the next, most logical thing to do would be to check here."

Beside him, Yuma nodded slowly, his bottom lip jutting from his frown and his eyes glazed, staring at nothing in particular, their focus seeming far away. Ninety-six squinted at him. He pulled his attention to their surroundings, pushing his servant's ridiculous behavior to the back of his mind for later. They had more dire matters to attend to now. Whatever Yuma's plight was could wait.

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><p>"Get down!" It was the first time Yuma had ordered Ninety-six to do something since the beginning of their interactions - and, in those times, the things Yuma had shouted were not orders so much as insults and vain scorns; things like "fuck off," "suck shit," "kiss my ass," and "leave me alone." So, Ninety-six hesitated, not used to being on the butt-end of a command.<p>

He could not see Yuma, having been focused on restraining and beating the guards near the basement of the Tower, deflecting their attacks and disarming them of their weapons with unearthly limbs. He only took a brief second to tick his head and turn to face the direction where Yuma's cry came from, and caught a glimpse of Yuma being held down on his stomach by four guards before he felt something shock the back of his neck.

The pain and impact was forceful enough to push him forward, and he dropped three of the guards he held in surprise, but it was the torrents of shocks that whatever had stabbed and buried itself into his skin gave that made him scream. He was blinded and saw only red as the pain spread and burned throughout his body - to the tips of his tentacles - before he heard himself begin to gurgle in the echo of Yuma's faint cries. He didn't feel his body fall to the floor.

The next thing he heard was Kaito's voice, insulting, "What a cute guard dog you've become." Ninety-six scrunched his eyes and attempted to open them, but the lids were too heavy.

"…-not in front of him," Yuma moaned in reply, his voice cracking. "Not now. Please-"

"Why not in front of him," Kaito countered. His boots clicked as he walked closer.

"Hey!" Yuma shouted from afar. "What are you doing! He's helpless right now; just leave him alone!"

Helpless? Blindly, he tried to twitch his arms, his legs, and realized he couldn't feel them. From his elbow to his fingers, from his knees to his feet - they were numb, and he couldn't move. Opening his eyes felt like a process that was agonizingly slow and tedious, like having had to hold Yuma still long enough to force him to duel in his proxy months ago, and now the end result of the effort it was to open his eyes was just a blur; Kaito's outline was hardly distinguishable from his surroundings, and he couldn't come close to telling what it was that bound him before the Hunter, upright and a little over him. At the moment, Ninety-six's only four limbs spread in an eagle-man pose. Helpless indeed.

"How many people has this thing hurt," Kaito mused aloud, quietly.

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><p>Then he turned to Yuma, who was cuffed, hands and feet, to a chair in the farther side of the room. "How many times has he hurt <em>you<em>?"

Light caught the tension in Yuma's eyes, making them burn as he glowered. "You don't know anything," he muttered. It wasn't the childish, whiny sort of grate that Kaito had remembered. There was now something aggressively defensive in his tone now.

Kaito sneered, the corners of his eyes squinting in a faint but noticeable show of disgust. "And as it turns out," he drawled in realization, though a growl escaped through his would-be mockingly degrading tone, "you have feelings for _this one_ too."

There was a beat of heavy silence, and Yuma's eyes willed themselves not to glance inadequately at the disoriented Ninety-six, bound in the circular machine in front of them, trying to listen and comprehend their conversation. "It's none of your business," Yuma clipped, looking away. He flinched when he heard Kaito scoff in reply.

"You're impossible," Kaito ground out, the edges of his mouth twitching as though assaulted by a bad taste. "So, the first unfeeling mass murderer wasn't enough for you; you had to literally trade for a new one? Does he even know? It's not like the reason that this roach took Astral's place is a big secret if someone actually pays attention."

"…You are _humiliating_!" Yuma's hiss boomed into a roar, and he bared his teeth, jolting forward in his chair. His hostility earned him only as deeper frown from the other. "Can you _not_ talk about this with him _right there_? I'm the one who should be letting him know my feelings first, not you, and not in the way you're talking about them. It's nothing like that!"

"You _should_ be humiliated. If what I'm saying isn't true, why else bother risking the release of this thing," Kaito muttered resentfully, glancing back at the dizzy alien who had been the cause of harm to so many of his soldiers. "Why bother trapping Astral at all, knowing how much you cared for him? Even Heartland got the drift; he considers you to have done us a favor." He fully faced Ninety-six now, meeting the hazy but growing awareness in dark-and-gold eyes, and disdainfully blunted, "Heartland wants to thank you for bringing out the weaker Shadow instead of having us face something we might not have been able to handle."

Ninety-six's stomach burned, but his glare was droopy. Yuma tried to gauge his reaction to Kaito's words, tried to see if he had understood the meaning beneath them, what the words implied about his loyalties and means. His master didn't regard him, and the Number's unfocused stare might've been a sign that he probably couldn't even see him, but Yuma remained insecure.

Fidgeting restlessly in his chair, he croaked, "I told you, that's not why-…"

"No," Kaito interrupted, turning abruptly from the monster. "You sealed the Original because he was getting ideas. And you chose the world first. I'm sure this one," he waved dismissively at Ninety-six before making his way for the room's exit, "knows you weren't just herding him to us all along so that we could destroy him. Don't worry, he won't last long enough to feel 'heartbroken' and wreak his revenge on you. But if now you finally don't feel safe around him," he paused at the doorway, catching the sight of Yuma staring aghast at his master's prone form, "I could move you to another room. That'll save you from having to think of a goodbye."

_It's not true_, Yuma begged in his mind, the words unable to verbally express themselves through his dried throat. Ninety-six blinked harder, startled with the sudden silence, and finally trudged his gaze through the room's machinery to meet Yuma's. Kaito's chest burned and his stomach felt queasy at their brief exchange. He shut the door, leaving to fetch his brother.

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><p>Yuma's grunts were the only sound at the moment. Ninety-six had a better understanding of why Yuma could be crying this time. Yuma's pale wrists were bruising quicker the harder he struggled, trying to twist his body in the grounded chair. Of course; he must be so frustrated, not being able to escape or fight when he must desperately want to. Yuma had exhibited the same reaction before, when Ninety-six had been the one doing the restraining. His little boy had become so strong and loyal despite his limits.<p>

"Why were you crying," Ninety-six's tongue felt thick, and it sounded as such. Yuma's gaze snapped up. He looked conflicted and a bit afraid, but Ninety-six repeated himself, trying to sound more comprehensible. He could think of nothing else to say or do at the moment, could not help but stay limp.

Yuma didn't answer, the screaming tension in his face fading as his face scrunched, his tears streaming faster and soaking his face. Ninety-six frowned at the pity he saw there.

"I'll get us out of here," Yuma spoke in a surprisingly steady, strong voice, even as he continued to cry and struggle uselessly. Suddenly, in a flash of wild frustration, Yuma pulled and shook his arm in spasms, the cuffs jingling in a consistent series of clinks, and he roared. His skull hit the chair as he threw his head back, the scream fading into defeated crying. Yuma leaned heavily into the chair, breathing loudly and panting his sobs out.

He was trying. Ninety-six clenched his teeth and pulled his arms in. The most he succeeded in doing was twitching. There was a stifling ache in his neck, as though something wrapped it and was squeezing; every time he tried to focus his thoughts and attention to his surroundings, attempting to devise a spontaneous plan, the focus burst and dissolved. He had closed his eyes again when he heard Yuma sigh a strained, "I like you." Yuma hadn't moved from his slouched pose, and stayed staring at the ceiling instead of meeting his master's stare. "Don't listen to what they're saying. Okay? Kaito was just teasing me for liking an alien. None of what he said is true," he drifted off and closed his eyes, the last of his words ending half-heartedly.

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><p>His eyes stayed closed even after the commotion in the room. It was over.<p>

Ninety-six grunted in protest and weak struggle as another syringe hissed softly, and then he quieted. Several footsteps gathered around the machine holding him, and the locks which trapped him clicked open one by one before his prone form was carefully placed into a wheeled body cart, where new straps to hold him were secured. The cart trolleyed by. Yuma couldn't hear the small wheels anymore past the shutting steel door.

"I hope they know what they're doing," he whispered passionlessly. There was only his voice in the room. "He's sneaky. He'll feel it when Ninety-six is gone. He's still in there, somewhere. It's not like I killed him, not like I can."

Silence answered him. He waited.

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><p>This was not the way a would-be date should have ended.<p> 


	3. Return

Chapter **Return**

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><p>Ninety-six was notoriously self-preservating. Even as he had been sealed and resealed, again and again, he had begun to plot his means of escape even in the process of becoming once more trapped. The trait was something of a talent, and almost instinctual. Yet as Ninety-six found that after a dozen or so pairs of human hands passed him by and placed him gingerly into a vertical coffin of green, bubbly water where he had no trouble taking in what could be his last few, unneeded, deep breaths, all thoughts of escape faded in the weakness of his own drugged body. Instead, he mused, as Kaito paused by one of the entryways to give him one more resentful but triumphant glare before passing, that his little Yuma had a really terrible love life.<p>

"But he's so beautiful when his heart is breaking," a serene whisper, or a sensual hiss, in his mind supplied. Ninety-six chuckled silently in agreement with his thoughts. Then, his nerves briefly flared up, making his whole body twitch dramatically in the tank, as he realized where the thought had actually come from.

"What's happening?" The man, called Faker by the other humans in the room, demanded. Ninety-six squinted to see him, torn between wanting to warn them and possibly trick them into saving him verses wanting to remain silent and leave them to burn. As it was, the desire to survive trumped the desire for revenge. He forced his palm to press against the glass, though just that movement proved taxing, and Ninety-six found it impossible to push against and break the thick tank.

Faker didn't back away. He turned to one of his colleagues, who reported, "His body must be fighting our tranquilizers. We have to work quickly." Ninety-six opened his mouth, blurting out bubbles. Faker glowered at him, ignoring the words he attempted to communicate.

"Give him more time," Faker directed, and several of the doctors paused in their work, searching him dubiously. "The longer he stays there, the more chance there is that every bit of his system will be contaminated, and that releasing the toxic will destroy him completely."

Ninety-six quit trying to speak, reading the words on Faker's lips. Faker, for once, looked miffed and suspicious as the alien stretched his jaw in silent laughter. His attempt at shattering the glass with a sudden bouquet of dark, otherworldly limbs were in vain, but that the tentacles clustered and pressed uselessly against the tank didn't seem to faze the monster. He continued to gurgle his laugh, despite how tired and lethargic his movements were.

_He's bluffing_, Faker reasoned with himself. _Acting as though what we're doing is fruitless so that we hesitate. The defenders of his world tried the same tactic before, and it proved to be nothing._

One of the doctors, a younger one, began to tremble. Faker noticed this; he saw Ninety-six trade a look with her, and the hidden motive behind his eyes had frightened her. "Don't let him shake you," he ordered, breaking the spell. The woman snapped her back straight, alarmed at having been addressed, and nodded stiffly, her gaze avoiding the would-be hostile being in the middle of the room. She immediately darted her attention back down to her screen. Faker himself finally left the spot in front of Ninety-six, ignoring and detesting the glint of the Number's eyes and teeth.

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><p>"You've had him for too long," Astral's voice grumbled the way large tires grumbled over degraded mountains, having been displeased and discomforted. His presence was becoming more aware, and Ninety-six, even as his own consciousness was gradually drifting into the closest he could ever come to a human's equivalent of sleep, or death, he could feel Astral. The impression of long, sharp nails dug into Ninety-six's skin as Astral's growing re-awareness locked and squeezed around his throat.<p>

Ninety-six made a sound of protest that he wasn't too proud of, and he felt more than saw Astral smile at that. "Die quietly this time," he instructed. Blue snakes slithered over Ninety-six's legs, over his arms, and moved to suffocate his head.

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><p>The broken lights on the ceiling flickered, once in a while reminding them of the countless torn wires hazardously hanging over the water from the tank's shattered glass. Astral was still in the middle of choking the last guard, his tentacle holding his neck over the bodies of his fallen comrades behind him. He used his actual hand to hold Kaito up, choking him. Both he and the unconscious guard were dropped in Astral's momentary shock when Kaito was able to ground out, "Your boyfriend is dead."<p>

Kaito panted desperately, and Astral stepped forward in his impatience. He didn't speak, but Kaito could see as he looked up that Astral might as well have been screaming at him to explain, to continue, to admit that he was lying. "While your Shadow was dying," Kaito rasped, sinking into himself and the floor in defeat, "Yuma was supposed to be moved to speak with Heartland. But he got away."

Astral's eyes were no longer serene. In the last days before Yuma aided Ninety-six's release, Astral had looked at ease and therefore all the more wicked to Kaito during their battles; the alien had believed in his cause, believed he was righteous, and Astral had been fine with his new desires and realized mission of destruction. Astral would smile in a pleasant, satiated sort of way in the face of his victims under his power.

His eyes shook now. Larger than a human's, his eyes glazed and gleamed at Kaito, bright even in the broken, dim light. As small as his physique was, he reminded Kaito of a child in the midst of a war zone, shaken and lost. Kaito blunted his words in a last, petty effort to break him, "He broke through a window and jumped. I saw him. Astral, it's over. You have nothing to fight for; there's no one beside you." His brother's eyes had been dull and remained that way, even at the sight of Yuma's broken body. He had told Haruto to stay and wait for him, but that hadn't mattered. Haruto was nonchalant, unbetter. Kaito closed his eyes. "It's over."

Astral had already vanished. There were echoes of faint screams coming from the vast hallways as he sped by, strong enough now to swat the guards dead like flies.

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><p>What felt like a lifetime ago but was really yesterday morning, Ninety-six had spread out the brochure of Heartland's theme park on the table. "Come here with me."<p>

Yuma had gaped, "R-Really…?" The hotel's room service food in front of him was momentarily forgotten. Ninety-six ticked his head; Yuma's eyes were bright and enthusiastic, catching the sun's light emitting from the window and making the human look happy - happier than he'd seemed in a long time. "Just the two of us?" Yuma asked, and then laughed sheepishly, scratching his head. "I mean, yeah, of course, right? Who else are we gonna go with?" He ate with zeal, smiling at Ninety-six as he chewed. Ninety-six observed his behavior, his attention roaming leisurely on Yuma's blushing face.

What felt like thirty minutes ago, Yuma had been released from a metallic, grounded chair by two guards. The cuffs clicked open, and they stood him up, only to bring his wrists together to bind him in a larger pair of restraints. Something in him snapped, and he shot his foot up, hitting one of the guards' groin and took advantage of the other's shock by twisting out of the her grip. He sprinted out the open door.

More guards sped down the hallway, facing him, and he swerved, hiding with his back against the wall in the hallway's intersection even though he knew they had seen him. Instead of turning to grab him, though, they ran straight ahead, heavy weapons in hand, and he knew his gut-feeling had been right.

_Not again_, his mind begged, his knees trembling as he struggled to stay upright and pointlessly strong. _Not again. I can't go through that again. He's-…_ More tears leaked out, the several guards passing by not noticing him despite his sniffles.

What felt like a few minutes ago, maybe ten, Yuma's legs led him mechanically to an elevator, where he mindlessly formulated a last-ditch effort to escape a being worse than a nightmare, and possibly even help persuade Astral to surrender his sinful goals by taking away what Yuma knew to be the alien's one and only pillar of strength and meaning. Yuma didn't go up too high; just high enough.

A moment ago, Yuma saw himself, or what was left, flat on the ground near Heartland Tower's side-entrance, lying in his own blood. He turned, disgusted with his corpse, and regarded the nearby scenery. The theme park had already closed down, its lights blacked out. He didn't know what he was supposed to do next. He thought that Stuff was just supposed to Happen now. Where was the Light he had heard so much about? Or the Angels, or the Fire?

He lifted one foot, which felt solid and real despite that the corpse behind him implied otherwise, and put it forward. He walked.

"Yuma," the call came from behind him. Yuma didn't understand how he still felt so real, felt somehow still so alive, in this form. Ghosts weren't supposed to feel their hearts suddenly stop; their hearts already have. But his did, and slowly, he turned, his eyes wide and nervous as they hesitantly forced themselves to lock onto the blue demigod hovering over the blood and gutted flesh of what used to be him.

Astral's eyes were still as he observed the body. Yuma had witnessed him cry before. There were times when the curses Yuma had screamed broke the alien's usual calm and stoic expression, when Yuma's lies of hating him and wishing him gone had inspired hurt tears to slip, and Astral had often tightened his lips or covered his eyes as his shoulders trembled. Now, though, Astral's face spontaneously crumpled in a way Yuma had never seen before, the stony serenity shattering before he covered the humane expression with his fists.

"Astral," Yuma sobbed, his arms lifting themselves and reaching out for his ex-partner, but he stopped himself. He slammed a fist to his cheek and rubbed his tears. "Astral!" He scolded, angry that he was still here, that he had to see Astral's reaction. He shouldn't have had to seen this, shouldn't have had to deal with this monster's tears and sadness. He was dead; couldn't he catch a break from him now?

He turned around again, his eyes scrunching closed in an attempt to dam his crying, and forced his legs to move forward. He felt himself gasp and shudder with his sobs, not holding them back as no one could hear them anymore anyway. No one heard ghosts.

"Yuma!" Astral screamed, and Yuma went faster. Then he stopped when he heard Astral scream his name again, his voice sounding not at all farther away than it had a moment before. "Where are you going!" Astral yelled, angry, and Yuma's eyes snapped wide open. His mind raced, realizing that even when he'd felt his legs moving, he hadn't moved an inch from where he had stood since Astral arrived. He felt himself tremble again, for reasons separate from the pity he'd felt for Astral, and slowly turned. Astral was staring at him, accusatory. "Why," he hissed.

"Y-…" Yuma's throat, which had felt stifled with sobs, suddenly strained to send his words out. He feared the answer to his question, "You can see me?"

"Of course," Astral snapped, and the simple answer managed to shake Yuma enough for him to fall on his behind, his knees giving way, and he fell back on his elbows, in shock. Astral went on, as though the revelation that he could still communicate with Yuma were trivial, "Yuma. You…" He bared his teeth and shut his eyes, his hands moving to claw at his hair as he screamed. "Always so _impulsive_! _How could you!_ What _reason_ was there for you to do such a horrible thing!"

"What reason?" Yuma repeated, an old anger creeping into him. He shouldn't have to feel things anymore. He should be gone. He shouldn't have to deal with the spinning, fast, back-and-forth roller-coaster stream of emotions that only Astral made him go through. He shouldn't have to still be suffering through the love-hate-anger-pity-care whirlwind that Astral always managed to force him into. "What reason…" He struggled to climb back to his feet, his "body" rigid and his eyes uncoordinated in a blind rage brought on by the realization that his death had resolved absolutely _nothing_.

"Like you don't know," he growled, then barked back, "You know why!" Astral glared at him, his crumpled face distorting viciously in fury, looking almost like an angry Ninety-six as he listened. "Don't you _dare_ act naïve like you don't know. Look at you; you're a _monster_ - and you never, ever want to do or be anything alone. You want to drag me down with you. You're trying to make me destroy my own home-!"

"Again," Astral spat, and Yuma took several steps closer in his rage.

"-And if you're so tired of me repeating the same things, then maybe you should feel glad!" He suggested hysterically, forcing away the pang of guilt he felt at seeing Astral's face crumple again, the being making no move to cover himself his time. "Either way, Astral, it's done. You can't do anything anymore! Without me, you don't have a vessel for the Key; you can't complete your mission. Get as angry as you want to now - it won't matter! I have part of your soul in mine, and I'm _gone_!"

Astral sprung forward. Yuma stood defiantly still, bracing himself for the feel of Astral's arm to go right through him. His whole self went cold when Astral's solid fingers grabbed him effortlessly by the collar of his shirt and hauled him up.

Frightened, he went limp as Astral seethed at him in the forefront of the dark blood which had oozed from his corpse. "You are _not _gone," he argued, shaking Yuma once. "Though Ninety-six underestimated your kind greatly, he was correct in some things. You humans are _ignorant_ to the connections between life and death - and you, Yuma, have once more greatly miscalculated your move to try and break me. I will not lose your soul to something as insignificant as a mutilated body. I will not lose _you_."

He shoved him, or rather threw him, down, and Yuma landed hard on the pavement several feet from him. Yuma lay there, numb and barely noticing the red sirens of the Heartland Tower activate. "…What," he whimpered in response to Astral's declaration, hopelessly confused. "What." Astral glowered at him from where he floated, and Yuma dimly recognized that angry look - like the ones Tetsuo or Shark used to give, when they were mad at him, torn between wanting to rough him up or walk away.

Astral turned and hovered closer to Yuma's corpse. He leaned down, his tentacles growing from his flesh and gingerly scooping up Yuma's dead limbs. The sight startled something in Yuma, and so he once more sprung up, suddenly finding himself directly behind Astral, but didn't question how his new ghostly form had done that as he screamed, "What are you doing?" Astral ignored him, carefully lifting the body from the puddle of blood before bringing it closer. He transferred the corpse to his arms and cradled it. "Astral!" Yuma screeched, feeling, for some reason, terrified and furious that he was touching his body. "I said _what are you doing_! Don't touch that, don't touch _me_ - leave me alone, for once, _fuck-!_

"What-?" He repeated as Astral levitated, flying from the crime scene. He didn't turn to face or acknowledge him, but Yuma felt it - the same pull towards the creature that he had been forced to deal with when they were both alive and together.

He grit his teeth and tried to resist, but the result was the same as it had always been - except this time, he was lifted off the ground. The invisible magnet that Astral would always use to shackle Yuma to his side seemed to transport him; one moment, he was standing on feet that felt too real and solid for that of a ghost on the ground, and the next, he was being pulled beside Astral as he too glided over the Tower. Yuma saw Astral cover his body with extra limbs, pointlessly stifling his wounds, as the alien held the head and pressed the lifeless face into his chest.

"Let go of me!" Yuma cried, struggling and squirming awkwardly in the air as he was once again forced to accompany and follow Astral. The alien stayed silent and stared forward as Yuma shouted, "How is this happening! How can you still be controlling me? I'm dead, I'm _dead_, _I'm dead!_"

The theme park was predictably dark by now. Astral murmured as they passed, "It will be okay," hardly hearing himself over Yuma's screams. "I can fix this. There is a way to fix this. We will be okay."


End file.
